A Glitch in the Virus

Chapter 2

As Wyatt slowly and tirelessly navigated the winding halls after his doll, his mind couldn't help but wonder back to his cousin's words that Alice had him listen to. She didn't know he could hear his cousin speak, but it left enough of a memory in his mind to remember bits and pieces. Though, the last line he said burned in his mind like salt on a sore wound, "This will be your last trip... yeah, last trip my ass..." his mumble could be heard as a grumble as he shook his head. How dare they... how dare they make him go through this one last time. He was cured for god's sake! Why did he have to go back?! His tiredness began to blend with his anger towards his parents, but it didn't last. Soon the defeat, the slump in his shoulders, and the exhaustion overpowered the anger and hatred he had. He had to focus on moving around the City again, and missing the Soulless that loomed in the darkness of every corner of the rooms and halls of the overgrowths that painted the brick walls. It was like they wanted to hide the city but they knew they sadly couldn't. The all too familiar emptiness began to settle around him once again, as the place took on its timeless role like it usually did. There, a sound of echoing and foreboding of ticks bounce themselves across the air as it followed behind the emptiness a few moments later. "It amazes me that they still work somehow here, even after all these years." His soft voice trailed through the clocks loud ticking as he got closer to it until he stood before it. The grandfather clock now loomed and towered before him like it had usually done, but now it was like time had slowed down to where it was supposed to be. Wyatt slowly removed his hand from the grandfather clock, backing away from it before turning away following the hallway once again.

                The doll in the red and black lace dress had disappeared again from her sight again, like they usually do to her. A heavy sigh of annoyance escaped her lips as she stood there in a new room. She had emerged into a room she had never seen before, or at least, not until now. There was paint peeling off pieces of plywood, the bricks were discolored and dark in tone almost like the darkness of the city made things lose its once beautiful color, in some openings or unfinished walls just stood chain linked fencing to keep you out, or to keep something in. As she began to make her way around the room, things began to catch her eyes left and right around the area. The washed out paintings on the wall gave the room a slight light-hearted feel, but it was overcome and ran over with the feeling of exhaustion and dread. A hint of a smile creased her lips at the paintings, but it didn't stay long when she noticed the different markings and writings on the walls and plywood's in the room. The soft thudding of her footsteps moved her over towards a piece of plywood that was dead and peeling, though the words looked freshly written or burned into it giving it an eerie echo in itself. "Nailed Thorn?" She read aloud before she began to open up her satchel and rummage through the files and paperwork trying to find something that would give her answers to what she was seeing. As she kept looking in her bag, she began to remove her satchel off her shoulder setting it down on the old, decrepit flooring to get a better look on the files. The search didn't last long when something out of the corner of her eye made her do a double take and stop, holding a file and some papers frozen in her hand. There standing at the end of the room looked like someone under a bedsheet in front of some red and white candles. She had a fear of things looking human-like that weren't supposed to be, but the curiosity of the candles kept her from running. Was there a ritual that needed to happen? Her gaze reluctantly shifted from the candles to the bedsheet thing, to then some sort of writing on the ground. An uneasy feeling filled her chest and the back of her mind, but she wasn't about to let that and her fear stop her from seeing what was going on. As she inched closer to figure and the candles, the words Light Your Way shined in bright red. Was it blood? Paint? She didn't want to know.

             Wyatt continued to make his way down the hall until he reached the end where a flight of steps made their way down. They were the only things that looked untouched from the city. Almost like the darkness missed a spot and wanted to keep it welcoming in a sort of morbid way of its own. Even though, this was nothing new to him, he knew where the stairs would take him. They wanted him to light the candles before moving forward, yet he knew his parents would tell him once again, 'Don't save the dolls! You're wasting your time!' Yeah, he knew, but he didn't care. He loved those dolls. They were his, and always would be his. He looked down for a moment as he began to descend the stairs going down into the basement. When he reached the bottom he began to look up to push the shelving out of his way but he stopped halfway. His arms and hands remained where the shelving would have been to move, but it was already moved? But how? There shouldn't be anyone else here?